Land of Hope and Glory
by Garnet-Moon
Summary: She had lasted through war, internal struggle, betrayal and more. Her life was one of contradictions here are some of the moments in it and the others she shared it with. Hints of Fem!EnglandXAll 100 themes
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The Hetalia manga and anime series do not belong to me**

Themes 1-10

**1 - Birth**

Her very first memory is of her brothers looking down at her. Three pairs of green eyes, all similar yet also widely different, stare at her from above. She is too young to read the emotions in their eyes, too young to understand the conflict happening in their hearts. Then a hand reaches down and encircles her own, the contact is foreign and new like everything else in the world. Stretching her neck back she meets another pair of green eyes only these are a deeper colour, which she will one day see again in the forests that stretch out across her land and when she looks into a mirror.

She looks around the eyes at the face they're in; pale skin, long blonde hair and a smile that makes the child feel warm and comforted. If she knew what one was she'd probably call the figure an angel. Another hand reaches to her face and brushes her cheek gently. She can't describe that feeling exploding inside of her, she only knows that it is strongly connected to this woman with her kind smile.

Yet something doesn't feel right. There is a heaviness around them and it feel like she'd being suffocated. She doesn't like this feeling and tears start to roll down her cheeks; please someone get rid of it. A pale finger wipes away her tears and if anything the woman's eyes get even brighter.

"Oh my dear girl, do not cry for me. It is my time to go and your time will soon begin. I'm sure you'll be amazing. I'm so glad I got to see you before I went." The voice is soft and kind like everything else about her but the child doesn't like the words she somehow understands and she begins to cry again. The woman wipes them away with a now fading hand and looks up to say something to the three boys. The kind smile flashes once again and then disappears.

On the day she was born her mother died to give her life, on that day she first felt both love and loss.

**2 - Enthusiasm**

Rome stared at the little girl sat in front of him. The savage little nation had fought him tooth and nail ever since he'd stepped foot on that island of hers, and her brothers were just as big a headache as her. Without a doubt Britannia was the most stubborn, cross, moody country that he'd ever met. It would have been so much easier if she had been like one of his precious grandsons who were both adorable! Alas she had proven to be more trouble than she was worth but since the Emperor was determined to have all of her and her brothers land he was in charge of her. He had the bite marks on his hands to prove it.

Yet now she was practically bouncing off the walls with joy, he idly wondered if someone had drugged his wine again but shook his head. What on earth could have caused the feral little girl to smile like that? The green eyes that always glared up at him burning with anger were now alight with happiness, the mouth that only seemed to frown was now pulled up in a blinding smile and the sullen miserable air around her was suddenly buzzing and full of energy, he didn't understand it.

Suddenly seeming to notice his presence she spun around to meet his gaze. The light on her face dampened but didn't go out. Instead she marched up to him and thrust something in the surprised empires hands.

"Wha-?"

"Look." She barked, back to normal then eh? He was about to scold her for her attitude when his eyes fell on the thing she'd given (thrown) at him. It was a simple piece of plaster only it had figures scrawled into it. His eyes widened, it was Latin, he focused on the childish letters and was able to make out a sentence.

"Rome is stupid." He beamed down at the little nation who was now looking at him with a smug grin. "That's amazing you're learning to read and write." She nodded proudly. "Well do you want any he-." He paused and re-read her very first sentence again.

"Hey!"

**3 - Love**

England sighs and swallows the aspirin in her hand. Another Commonwealth meeting, another few days full of headaches, screaming, arguing, fighting and general chaos surrounded by her former colonies. Yippee. She could hear Scotland and Wales arguing from the hotel room next to hers and she's 90% sure that India has stolen the keys to her car judging from the screaming outside.

She rolled onto her back and prepared to have a nap for a couple of hours before the "family dinner" began. Some rest was needed after that agonizingly slow flight. Not many people knew it but she hated flying with a passion and would have preferred to come by boat but it would have taken too long. Travelling usually left her tired so she closed her eyes to go to sleep.

"Hey Pommy this is no time for sleeping. You haven't said hello to everyone yet." One eye cracked open to see the smiling face of Australia hovering over her. Screaming into her pillow she turned to glare at the cheery nation and made a shooing motion with her hand.

"Aw don't be like that, everyone wants to see you." She glared again and turned on her side so he was facing her back. "OK you asked for this then." Dread pooled in her stomach and she started to turn around, only to yelp as a pair of arms encircled her waist and yanked her squealing out of the bed.

"What on earth do you think you're doing Australia?" She yelped as she was unceremoniously pulled out of bed. For the millionth time she cursed being so slight and small and thumped the much larger and physically stronger country on the chest.

"Taking you to see your family." He said plainly and continued to carry her bridal style down the stairs.

"And why would I want to see them? All you lot ever do is cause me headaches and bruises." Australia beamed down at her again. For a second, just a second she was struck by how much he'd grown. The little wild boy she'd first met had grown up into a strong, independent and admittedly handsome country. A faint streak of red dusted her cheeks and she whipped her head forward so that he didn't see. She did have some dignity left after all.

"Because you love us." He said confidently in a tone that allowed no room for argument. She huffed and didn't meet his gaze. Australia laughed and carried on holding her. She was never one to display her feelings openly but he understood her anyway.

**4 - Hate**

The whistles sounded all along the trenches of the Front Line. As one an entire wave of men scrambled out of the mud and started to run towards the enemy with only their guns for protection. From their lips came a fierce cry; a cry of courage, of battle, of patriotism and of fear. They moved forward as one, prepared to fight for king and country.

Only to get shot down by a hail of machine gun fire.

The cry turned to individual screams as men fell to the ground. Dead. Some tried to turn back to their own trenches, to escape the certain death before them. They were pushed back, their commanders forced them back towards the enemy, towards the guns, towards death. The lucky ones found a hole in the mud to shelter in until the massacre was over.

England saw it all. For the first time in a while hot, angry tears started to fall from her eyes and her chest seemed full of something dark and strong. Her hand was clenched so tightly that her nails had dug into her skin and blood was slowly dripping down her hand.

She wanted it to be her blood out there in the mud not theirs. Not her men. She had been in battle before but not like this, never like this. Turning around her eyes sought something to unleash her hate on something.

Germany? No, he was just another country in this pointless war. Another warrior on the field. Who then? Turning away from the battlefield her eyes went beyond the lines of trenches to the fancy mansion a few miles from the mud and carnage. There, the "finest" leaders of her military sat round the dining table eating rich food and drinking white wine. The men who had ordered her soldiers to go over the top.

The men whom she hated.

**5 - Triumph**

Her blade cut through the sailor in front of her, she could hear the yells form her men as they swarmed the ship. The Spanish crew were being pushed put of their own ship as her pirates swarmed over them. She laughed amidst the fighting, exhilaration crashing over her in a wave. She'd done it, she'd finally proved to them that she was strong enough to stand with the rest of them. How many times had they ridiculed her for being too small, too weak to be an important country? No more.

An unfortunate soul tried to stab her from behind but too late, her sword was already in his gut. Laughter threatened to spill out of her mouth and a huge smile adorned her face.

Then she saw him.

Standing there, as his men were pushed back and killed by her own, was the Spanish Empire. He was one of the strongest powers in the world at the moment and she'd just beaten him soundly. Victory tasted very sweet. Yet there was something off about the way he was looking at her. Something was burning in those olive eyes apart from anger, something that was entirely focused on her.

Apart from that his entire face was blank and it unsettled her slightly. Spain was a very emotional country whether he was angry or happy, the blankness of his face was wrong. What was he feeling? What was that emotion in her enemies eyes; recognition, obsession, interest or something different? Somehow she knew that this was the start of something between them be it rivalry or not.

For now she turned back and jumped back into the fray, content for the moment to savour her victory.

**6 - Feel**

Portugal watched with bored eyes as his boss finished drawing up the new treaty: a promise of peace between him and England. Truth be told he didn't know much about the northern country, only bits he'd heard from his brother, France and some other European nations. Apparently she was meant to be an angry, uncivilised barbaric woman whom he would find nothing in common with. At least that was what he'd heard, he hadn't actually seen her yet as it had mainly been there bosses who had met. Call him odd but he preferred to make his own opinions of people rather than rely on others. If anything he was interested to meet one of the few female nations in the world.

"Will someone tell me where the hell he is so we can get this thing over with!" He started at the voice that cut through the silence he had been enjoying, it was unmistakeably a woman's voice. The door was thrown open and a figure marched into the room.

He blinked, a little thrown by her appearance; she was tiny, only coming up to his shoulder yet her presence filled up the entire room drawing every eye in the room towards her. Long blonde hair that fell to her waist was haphazardly tied back in a pony-tail with little strands shooting off in every direction, her skin was quite pale though her cheeks were flushed red with anger, or perhaps annoyance. Her clothes were surprisingly plain in both style and colour; mainly dark blues, green and browns. She didn't wear any jewellery or make-up that he could see and her stance screamed aggression.

"I'm over here Miss England." He called out in her language and she whipped round to see him. Portugal's eyes widened now that he had a clear view of her face. Large green eyes stared back, they were set in a slight, elf-like face with delicate features and a soft mouth. He knew she'd be stunning if she smiled. He stood up and approached her, a friendly smile on his face.

"I'm sorry to have made you wait, please forgive me." That seemed to throw her a little and some of the tension seemed to drain out of her.

"I-It's alright. Just don't let it happen again." He smiled again and nodded.

"Well, I can't disappoint a beautiful woman now can I?" His voice held nothing but honesty, and it was that more than anything that caused her to flush red again, only this time it wasn't with anger. It was quite cute he decided, the way her face seemed to show everything she felt. Yes, this was a most promising beginning.

**7 - Wrecked**

September 1940 - another raid on London by the _Luftwaffe_.

Canada gaped at the damage around him. He'd come across on one of the convoys to see how England was doing. The pictures had been bad enough but seeing it in reality was far worse. It was dark but the city could be easily seen as bombs illuminated the streets and roads making it even easier for the next wave of bombers. Rubble was everywhere and the emergency services were stretched to the limit.

Against the skyline St Paul's Cathedral still stood, proud and erect as the city burned. The North-American country could see people everywhere, but he couldn't see _her_ anywhere. Closing his eyes he reached for the link that connected him to her, the link that every nation under her care felt. There! Without stopping to speak to his men he ran off into the city, hoping that she was OK. Kumajirou watched as his master ran off into the smoke and fire of London.

He found his way to a small house which had had its roof blown off by a bomb. Soot and ash caused him to cough and with a burst of energy he broke down the door with his shoulder.

"England, England are you here?" No answer. He rubbed his eyes, looking for any sign of life in the abandoned building. Fear and helplessness was making him frantic. Where was she?

A single cough made him go still.

"C-C-Canada?" The voice was weak and weary but his knees nearly buckled in relief because it was hers. She was curled up in one of the corners covered in dust and ash. Her hair was knotted, untidy and untamed and her eyes were rimmed red from a lack of sleep. Patches of her skin were burnt and scarred from the raids and her breathing was laboured, but she was still alive.

He gently reached down to pick her up and was shocked at how light she felt. It was so jarring to see her like this, throughout his life she had always been a strong, no invincible figure but at the moment...She must have seen something in his face because she scowled and lightly flicked his forehead.

"I'm not dead yet my boy. That Kraut has another thing coming if he thinks that this will finish me off." Despite the situation he smiled, he should have known she'd get back up again.

**8 - Soft**

OK, so this was a little awkward. The little Asian nation currently staring at her was even more reserved than Japan. England was used to dealing with loud boisterous nations and this silent child was unnerving her. Hong Kong hardly spoke at all and had developed a habit of following her around when she was at home. It had nearly given her a heart-attack on several occasions to turn around and see him standing there staring at her with those calm brown eyes.

So a little fed up one day she had sat the boy down and asked him what he wanted from her, which had lead to the current staring match. For someone who treasured peace and quiet it was odd that the quiet boy unsettled her, but she would not be beaten by a child. Brown eyes blinked. Green eyes blinked and the silence carried on.

Gah! This was killing her. One of them had to do something to get rid of the tension and she sucked at that. Social interaction was hardly her strong point. Letting out a sigh she opened her mouth to speak.

"Look kid, I can't do anything if you don't tell me what you want." That at least got a reaction out of him, he looked away from her and she could barely make out a shade of red on his cheeks. No way, he couldn't be...

"You're shy aren't you?" The red became more pronounced and he gave a jerky nod. It was, dare she say it, cute and it explained a couple of things. She placed her hand on his head and ruffled his hair, making him look a little less perfect and a little more like a child.

"Well that's fine. I'll wait until you're ready to talk then and if you want to carry on following me around I guess that's OK too. Just make a little noise or something so I know you're there OK?"

He was staring at her again. Though this time his eyes weren't quite so calm and his mouth may have trembled a little. So she smiled, that rare smile she used when one of her colonies was scared or frightened and she wanted them to know that she'd keep them safe. It was one of the few times when she actually let her guard down and to Hong Kong she looked amazing.

An affirmative head nod later and England went back into her house with Hong Kong trailing after her.

Years later when another box of fireworks exploded in her living-room she started to regret asking him to make noise when she was in the room.

**9 - Cold**

The sun rose on another day and a chill settled over both sides of the battlefield. England pressed up against the trench wall, desperately trying to keep her hands warm from the bitter chill. She may not be human but she could damn well still feel the cold. The soldier next to her was taking a drink of something out of his flask and offered it to her.

"Cheer up ma'am, it's not Christmas everyday you know." Christmas, was it really that time already? So much for everyones predictions. That probably explained why the frog had been so eager to leave the Front, well more eager than usual. So this was to be her Christmas then? Another day of mud, gunfire and death in France. She glanced over at the flask offered to her and shrugged. She might as well, it was Christmas after all. The alcohol stung her throat and reminded her vividly of what Scotland would drink and then pour into her mouth. Trying to ignore the fierce stab of homesickness and longing that came with the memory she stretched her stiff legs and prepared for another watch.

Then something extraordinary happened. Across from No-Man's land came the sound of singing. She couldn't quite make out the words but the tune was definitely "Silent Night".

"What the bloody hell is that?" Someone asked and another man poked his head over the trench, just a little to see what was going on.

"It's the Huns, they're singing Christmas carols!" England couldn't have been more surprised if Germany had come over to surrender. They were singing? It seemed crazy but it was true. The soldier whom had offered her the flask gave out a laugh and turned to the rest of the men.

"Well, we can't let them think we're too tired to sing now can we lads?" There was general negative muttering and with that the soldier started to sing "Amazing Grace" in quite a loud voice. England watched as the singing seemed to spread down the line until the whole front trench was filled with the sound of Christmas carols.

Not a single bullet or shell was fired.

She watched as her men tentatively climbed up on to No-Man's land and walked across to meet the German soldiers. She watched as parcels of food, wine and even clothing were chucked by both sides to the other. She watched as for one day in the entire war the guns were silent. Frowning she heard the commanding officers scream at their men to desist and fire at the enemy, but she knew that they wouldn't.

Making up her mind she put down her gun and pulled herself up out of the trenches. A thin layer of snow covered the ground and her boots crunched in it. He had to be somewhere, ah she could hear him talking to one of his soldiers.

"Hey Germany, you going to come out or not?" For a couple of moments there was silence before a blonde head slowly came out of the ground.

"England? Was are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing? I need someone to talk to and France isn't hear to insult."

Wow she had actually confused him. Her lip twitched into something of a smile and she waited for him to come out.

A few minutes later they were walking along No-Man's land watching their soldiers. Some were playing football, some were burying the dead. She saw an English priest doing small ceremonies for both her men and Germany's. Elsewhere gifts were being exchanged. They were buttons, helmets and cigarettes; nothing fancier than a nice scarf. A cough to her right caused her to turn and see Germany holding out a scarf. Her face must have been confused because he looked up to the sky and didn't meet her gaze.

"You, ah, looked quite cold." Slowly she took the scarf and ran her fingers over the material, it was quite thick and would doubtlessly keep her warm. Lost for a second she shook her head and reached into her coat for the flask that the soldier had given her.

"Here, you might want this more than I do. I should warn you it feels like swallowing fire." He nodded and took the flask form her. She turned back to continue watching the extraordinary event happening in front of her.

**10 - Without**

"I present to you the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland." She looked down at the fragile piece of paper which had finalised it. She would the representative for her brothers, the one that would be called Britain. If she was honest she preferred England if only because Britain reminded her of that idiot Rome. A gasped choke behind her caused her to glance back, only for her eyes to open in horror.

On the floor in various state of pain were Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. Each of them had gone deathly pale and Wales was struggling to breathe. Scotland was struggling to stand and clutching his stomach whilst North was ice cold to the touch.

She'd seen this happening once before.

Her heart seemed to stop and terror like she'd never known before filled her heart.

"No." She whispered. Even through his pain Scotland managed a laugh, though it looked more like a grimace.

"Oh yes sis. They only need one ta be the United Kingdom, not four." He winced and let out a groan. Part of his hand was starting to fade.

She looked at her twin. Wales managed a weak grin. "I'm sure you'll be fine chwaer." She shook her head. No they couldn't leave her, not now that Ireland had left them. She sank down to her knees and grasped her brothers hand. North was staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes as the lower part of his body started to disappear.

"Look after them OK." Wales said as his body too started to fade. Unable to do anything she watched them start to fade, to die. Her head shook in denial, this couldn't be happening. Her brothers had always been there sometimes as enemies others as allies but always there.

"NO!" She screamed sitting bolt upright in her bed. Gasping she looked around, the ice cold fear of the dream still flooding her system blurring reality.

Still shaking she threw off the sheet and bolted out of her room, praying that it had not been a memory. Bursting into the kitchen her eyes took in the scene in front of her. All three of them were there staring at her with undisguised shock and, minus Scotland, concern.

"What on earth happened to you chwaer?" Letting out a laugh she launched herself at him and nearly strangled him with a hug. They were alive, and looking even more worried Wales slowly hugged back. He frowned at the other two, mainly Scotland.

"OK, what did you do to her?"

"I did nae do anything to the brat!"

"Me neither!"

She only laughed harder and turned to hug North, he was slightly better than Wales but still acted as if she was about to turn on him and bite his head off. Wales was arguing with Scotland who soon became the third victim. With a huff he pushed her back.

"Now wha-" The redhead paused when he actually looked at his sisters eyes. They were red and suspiciously wet, they were pleading with him. Something had scared her, badly. Letting out another groan he let her hug him.

"I'm going tae use this against you forever ye know that."

"Uh huh." She nodded. She didn't care how annoying, hurtful, infuriating and very rarely sweet they were. When it came to living with them or without it was no choice at all.

**AN: I'm back! All I can say is that I'm going through some pretty important changes in my life this year so I've not been able to write for a while. This is 10 out of 100 themes about FEMEngland and the various states and emotions she goes through her life. There will be hints of pairings in some, tell me if you want more romance or less and I'll see what I can do. If you want a certain moment of history or country tell me too. Thank you all for being so patient and I'm going to try and update my other stories soon. Hope you enjoy and please wait for more! Hope I haven't lost my touch.**

**P.S. Still looking for Beta, it's been a while so I'm asking again. PM me if you're interested.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The Hetalia manga and anime series do not belong to me**

Themes 11-20

**11 - Inspiration**

She was very young when she first decides to be strong. Up until that point she had bee quite shy and meek despite her people's ferocity. Unlike her brothers she preferred to fade into the background then to stand apart. A childish belief that if she made herself small and unimportant the invaders would leave her alone, Rome would leave her alone. Even as she watched her warriors fall against the organised might of the Roman army she still didn't feel an urge to fight. All she wanted was for it to return to normal; when it was just her and her brothers in the world, even though they could be mean.

Then she sees her; her queen. Her first true queen.

At first it was just a strange feeling in her chest, Rome's might began to lift from her lands. Rumours reached her ears of a woman proud and strong, who had sworn personal revenge against the Romans. Her name was Boudicca, queen of the Iceni tribe.

The first time she saw her is engraved in England's mind. She'd watched from a tree as a large group of her people had gathered. They were talking in hushed voices and looking expectantly at the horizon. For a moment there was quiet and then a low thudding. The noise grew closer and closer, the young nation's heartbeat got faster and faster and then the woman herself, Boudicca, arrived.

Her chariot shot over the hills and raced towards the gathered men, the horses slowed to a stop in front of them and England stared at the figure of the queen; her queen. She was nearly as tall as some of the men and though not as heavily muscled as them there was an aura about her that drew your eyes. An untamed mane of red hair surrounded a strong but beautiful face and her eyes burned with an intense passion. Standing on her chariot; proud, defiant and rebellious, England felt their hope. The hope that this woman promised, the hope for freedom.

Then she began to speak, she spoke of the injustice that they suffered, of the pain and humiliation under the Roman's rule and of the deaths of those who had fought before. Then she spoke of the future and the fight ahead. England listened, her mind committing every word to memory; words of determination and strength, words of resilience and ferocity and the words of rebellion and retaliation. She heard them all and her soul drank them up greedily.

Though she didn't know it at the time those words and the feelings behind them would sustain her for years to come. Throughout all the wars she would hear that strong voice in the back of her mind urging her on no matter what.

**12 - You**

Great, another ball. Why did Alfred keep throwing these things? They weren't exactly vital or helpful to world politics and it usually meant that she would be making a fool out of herself in a dress. After the American's exuberant greetings she had quickly found herself a spot on the wall to stand by and observe the revelry.

It wasn't that she couldn't dance, it was that she hated dancing in public, the dance-floors where always busy and people kept bumping into her and stepping on her dress. Speaking of her dress she glared down at the gown that her boss had suggested (forced) her to bring. It was light blue and moulded to her form quite nicely but she could hardly move! Years of fighting had given her a hatred of being restrained, how was she supposed to defend herself when she could hardly move?

Still as long as she stayed against her part of wall she should be OK. From the corner of her eye she saw Canada rather nervously dancing with Ukraine, and from the look on her face England was glad that Russia was too busy avoiding Belarus to notice them. Prussia was trying to convince Austria to drink something that looked very suspicious and was failing spectacularly. Hungary had a rather manic look in her eye and had a video camera aimed at Italy, who was talking very animatedly to Germany. Belgium was looking for Spain, who was looking for Romano, who was looking for Belgium.

She frowned, two of the three idiots were accounted for but where was...

"_Bonjour Angleterre."_ Well her evening had just gone down the drain. "Wait where are you going _ma cherie?"_

"Away from you frog."

"Aww don't be so mean _petit lapin_."

"I told you not to call me that surrender monkey"

"And here I thought you might actually act like a lady for once. I guess the dress can't hide the brute within you."

"I'd rather be a tough woman than a girly man."

"Congratulations you can pass for both!"

"...Agincourt."

"Hastings."

"Waterloo!"

"Rosbif!"

"Frog!"

"You've used that one already." She let out a frustrated groan and turned around.

"Just leave and find someone's bed to crawl into. I can't deal with you tonight." She waited for him to leave so she could go back to her observing the happily dancing couples, whom looked stupidly happy and content and no she was not jealous.

"Would you like to dance with me?" Furious that he had not left she whirled around eyes blazing.

"Listen you I've ha-" She trailed off as what he'd said actually registered in her mind. France was gifted to a rare sight: England was speechless. Her jaw was nearly touching the floor and the anger and been extinguished by confusion.

"W-W-What did you say?" He grinned enjoying the moment immensely, it wasn't often that he got one-up on his rival.

"Would you like to dance with me?" He deliberately spoke in a slow, patronising tone and right on cue she bristled and glared at him again.

"I heard what you said the first time!" She took a deep breath and met his gaze with an unusually serious one. "Why would you ask me that?"

This time it was France who frowned, his eyes travelled up and down her body and he could practically feel her temper rising; the word pervert on her lips, but he wasn't leering he looked only to judge. The woman before him was loud, ill-tempered, violent, terribly blunt and had no cooking ability whatsoever. There was absolutely nothing feminine about her except for her face, which he grudgingly accepted was pretty in an elfish way, when she wasn't scowling. She would disagree with him over the colour of the sky and had on a number of occasions wounded him deeply, not that he hadn't done the same for her.

Yet, she'd also stood by him during some of his toughest battles. She could look him in the eye without flinching and he, like so many others had been ensnared by that odd fire burning in her gaze. They were England and France; rivals, enemies, allies, friends, equals.

She was not a beautiful woman, but tonight she looked stunning and she wanted to dance.

"Because I want to dance with you." Her eyes softened marginally and she slowly placed her hands in his.

**13 – Confused**

Green eyes stared down at the sleeping figure on the bed, eyes filled with confusion and a dark possession that bordered on obsession. A hand raised and hesitantly? Gently? Moved a lock of blonde hair that was blocking his view of her face. The strands were slightly course and crusted with sea salt and the bright yellow had faded a little from overexposure to the sun. It smelt of forest though, of wide green forests and fresh cut grass with a whiff of a sea breeze; her nation's scent remained despite her months on the ocean and he was curiously thankful for it.

The woman stirred slightly and her figure curled in on itself a little; he remained silent, watching her in his bed. She looked like some strange fairy and he knew that when he woke up the next morning she would be gone with no trace of her staying except a dent on the pillow and the fingernail marks on his back.

He didn't know how she managed to always get off and on his ship without detection but he did know that if he asked she would never come again. He would never again open his cabin door to see her sitting on his chair rubbing a piece of gold between her fingers, so he would let her keep her secrets, for now.

It was odd how shy he felt now, after he'd just spend the last few hours exploring her intimately, surrounded by her warmth. If he closed his eyes he could still feel her hands on his back, clawing at him, could still see her bright green eyes hazed with lust staring up at him and could still feel the softness of her skin against his. Of course her skin wasn't perfect, his eyes dropped down to her neck where there was a light scar running all the way across.

The punishment for pirates was hanging after all. He'd actually watched once himself. She'd known he was there and made sure to stare at him right up until the trapdoor had opened and the rope pulled tight. Even then she had mocked him, even as she fell a smirk had been on her mouth as if to say _"You win this round but we both know there will be many others."_ Sure enough a week later she was back attacking his treasure ships and two weeks after that she was in his room, waiting for him.

He knew he had to stop, he knew he had to beat this obsession with her, had to stop her invading his mind. It seemed like every time he closed his eyes there she was: smiling, smirking, fighting, fucking, dancing with him. _Dios_ save him, he didn't want to get over it.

It was against his very nature to let her go. She was his, she belonged to only him or at least she should. Anger burned inside him, he wasn't the only one entranced with the Pirate Queen. She knew this and seemed to throw it in his face time and time again, throwing it in his face that he needed her more than she did him. He hated it.

So why was she always the one to come to him? Why was she the one to appear in his bed and not the other way round. He sighed and continued to stare at the confusing nation in his bed. Tomorrow she would be no-ones, but for tonight and a couple of others she was his. Not France's, not Prussia's, not Turkey's, not Denmark's nor his brothers, his.

He didn't know why she came to him over the others, in a few days they would be at each other's throats with blades and blood would be spilled. She looked glorious covered in blood, the Red English Rose. He would sleep soon and wake to an empty bed but for a few moments more she belonged to him, she was Spain's.

**14 – Affection**

In the middle of an expensive Roman Villa a small child sat in the courtyard, well sat was wrong the little brunette was asleep. The child wasn't a nation, yet, for the moment he was quite happy for his mother to be in control. She was in her bedroom "talking" with Rome, their current occupier. Heracles was dreaming under the Mediterranean sun and would have been fine their for the rest of the day, but it was not meant to be.

"You will behave little barbarian because if you don't Master Rome will never let you see that savage island of yours again!" The loud shrill voice woke the child and he opened one eye to see who it was who had angered Sulpicia, the head servant of Rome's villa. She was a formidable woman, devoted to her master and possessed a poignant distaste of anyone non-Roman.

"_Let go of me hag! I'm not doing anything that bastard says, and you look like someone disfigured a pig and through it in a river to rot!"_

Now that was interesting, apparently there was a new nation in the villa. Only nations would be able to understand what the girl, he presumed from the voice, had said.

"Don't speak to me in that gibberish brat!" Hmm, the nation must have done something really bad to make Sulpicia this mad.

Finally, the two figures appeared in the archway. The usually pristine and dignified Sulpicia was rumpled, hair out of place and breathing heavily. Squirming in her grasp was what looked like a small, yellow, fluffy caterpillar and it took a second or two for him to see that it was actually a child, true a very feral looking child but a child nonetheless.

The irate servant dragged the girl into the centre of the courtyard, right next to him, and dropped her on the ground.

"Now listen to me you vile child! You will sit and wait here until Master Rome has decided your punishment." Said nasty child merely hmmphed and turned away. Giving a final shriek the woman turned and left the courtyard leaving Heracles alone with the wild girl.

"_Evil bitch, just wait until my brothers get a hold of her." _She snarled and Heracles thought it was time to make his presence known.

"_You shouldn't really call her names."_ The girl nearly jumped out of her skin and wide green eyes whipped round to stare at him. "_She may not be very nice but Rome likes her and she can make your time here very difficult."_ The girl scowled and seemed to lose any apprehension she'd first had.

"_I don't care, I hate her and that Roman idiot as well. I don't want to be here."_ She sniffed and something suspiciously wet appeared in her eyes. Quickly rubbing them away she turned to him again. "_What's your name then?"_

"_My name is Heracles Karpusi."_ She scowled again and he got the feeling she did it a lot.

"_What kind of country is that?"_ Unperturbed by her abrupt manner he shrugged.

"_I'm not a country yet, my mama is known as Greece. Mama says that I will be a nation one day._" He stared at her and she wriggled a bit, unsure how to react. He wasn't Rome and she could really use someone to talk to in this horrible place. Suddenly shy she stared at the ground when he spoke again.

"_What's your name then?"_

"_Britannia, though my brothers used to call me Albion."_ He frowned at that, she looked young, slightly younger than him yet she reminded him of his mother and Rome, surely she wasn't-

"_Are you a proper nation?"_ She nodded and Heracles felt his eyes widen, she was so small and tiny. "_But what about your parents?"_

Oh. That was clearly the wrong thing to say, she looked like she was about to cry.

"_She died when I was born, I don't know about my father, my brothers don't speak about him."_ So small and young, it didn't seem fair. Heracles wondered how he would fare if his mother suddenly died and he became Greece. He didn't want to think about it. Determined to lighten the conversation he struck a thinking pose.

"_I can't call you something as serious as Britannia, and Albion is not a pretty name either." _She bristled again and he allowed a lazy smile to cross his face. _"I'll call you kitten instead."_

Silence.

"_WHAT?" _Her cheeks were bright red and she looked angry again. "_That's insane why would you want to call me that?"_

"_Because you remind me of a small fierce blonde kitten, always hissing and spitting when someone tries to tame you."_ She looked like she was about to punch him. "_And I think your cute too."_ Her fist dropped and she looked away, face still a bright red.

A hand reached over and patted her head. She stared at him with wide green eyes, too big for her face. He smiled. "_Yes definitely adorable." S_he scoffed and looked away.

"_You're no help at all, I'll chose my own name_." She looked up to the sky thinking of all the tales her brothers had told her. A name was very important and she would only tell it to those she trusted absolutely.

Centuries later she walked into a conference room already anticipating the headache to come. Desperate to sit far away from America and France her eyes sought a haven. She found it.

Greece knew the second she slid into the chair next to him. One eye cracked open to see the blonde spreading her files on the table.

"Hello kitten." He murmured and as usual she glared at him.

"How many times do I have to tell you to not call me that." She hissed, which wasn't really helping her case. A sly look came into her eyes and she glanced around to check that no-one was listening.

"It's Alvara." He shrugged and gently patted her head again.

"Whatever you say kitten."

**15 - Joy**

The sun hits her face as it rises and she lets out a groan, desperate to hold onto those last few seconds of sleep. England is not, nor will she ever be a morning person. She cannot function properly until she's had at least two cups of tea and some food.

So, on this day when she wakes up and sees a collection of her "family" sitting on the end of her bed all beaming at her, it should be no surprise when she immediately buries her he ad back into the pillow.

"Go away." A mumbled growl comes from the pillow, but for some reason the equation England + early morning = pain was not computing in some of their heads.

"Come on sis, it's your birthday." Clearly her twin was either the bravest or the stupidest of the bunch. She pokes her head slightly out and gives him a glare that has been known to send men run away screaming.

"Wales, you know damn well how I feel about mornings. So, if you wish to retain the ability to bring children into this world I suggest you leave me alone.

"Aw don't be like that pommie." So Australia was here as well eh, which meant that New Zealand was here too and probably Canada. Someone approached her bed and she stiffened.

"Scotland don't you dar-" Her voice is cut off by a shriek as her older brother heaves her out of bed and over his shoulder. She yelps indignantly and thumps his back.

"SCOTLAND, PUT ME DOWN!" A few of the others wince and she feels a vindictive pleasure but the lump carrying her downstairs seemed completely fine.

She catches sight of some bright banners and balloons as they pass by the living room and she bites back a groan when she sees Sealand rushing into the kitchen. What next?

With an oompf she is let down on a chair and stares blankly at the cake in front of her. It's covered in red and white icing and someone has very sloppily written in blue _Happy Birthday England_. She raised an unimpressed face to the crowd around her table.

"Who on earth eats cake for breakfast?"

"Oh can't you relax a little it's your birthday." India spoke up from the back and England shook her head.

"Look I appreciate it but-" Someone cuts her off.

"Just shut up and eat your cake brat." She freezes, that voice, not daring to believe it she turns her head to see if it really is him.

Her other brother. Ireland.

He hadn't been in her house for years and whenever she went to his it was with one of their other siblings or with her boss. She swallows the lump in her throat, they'd always used to spend birthdays together and they'd always end up fighting too. The past century though had shifted things and she hadn't seen him at her birthday for years.

Blinking away something that just may be tears she drinks in his face. There is still suspicion, pain, uncertainty and wariness, though that may be because Wales and Scotland are glaring at him, on his face but he's here. He's here with her at least for today.

She turns to try a bit of her birthday cake, before her family demolish the rest and tries to stop her happiness showing on her face so that she doesn't end up grinning like a fool.

**16 - Horror**

7th July 2005 – London Bombings

Australia pushed through the hospital doors in a flurry of panic, Z is not far behind him and both of the nations are sprinting for the emergency room. The usually cheerful nation ignored the shouts of surprise and cries to stop; his entire being was focused on the corridors in front of him. The sterile smell of the building made his nose itch but he didn't complain. Part of him didn't want to believe he was here, that she was here. He wouldn't believe it until..

The final doors opened and they both saw her.

She was dwarfed by the bed and all the machines surrounding her, her skin was much paler than usual and the normally blazing green eyes were shut. The worst thing was the unnatural stillness, the lack of life in her body. The only indicator that she was still alive was the constant beeping of the heart machine.

Australia felt his knees buckle and Z had to grab him to make sure that he didn't fall. Forcing his eyes away form her he looked at the other occupants in the room: Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland, Ireland, Sealand, Seychelles, India, South Africa, Canada and others would probably arriving soon. He and Z had been in Europe when they'd heard.

His eyes met Scotland's.

"What happened?" His voice was low, monotonous.

"Bombs in London's public transport systems during the rush hour. They're not sure of the casualties yet but," he cast a glance at his sister "it's gonnae be bad." He took a deep breath. "Auryn was with me and the young'un was with Ire-, with Riordan. We all felt something when the bombs went off." Australia knew that they only used their humans name if it was really important, Here the nation broke off and clenched his fist. "But we didn't check on her." Loathing began to slip into his voice, along with fear and anger. "The second I found out we rush back to her house and-" he broke off and looked away.

Wales took up the narrative, though his voice shook a little. "We found her lying on the floor in the kitchen. There was blood on her mouth and on the floor and she was clutching her chest. She wasn't moving, we thought.." He drifted off and resumed staring at the bed. Australia collapsed into a chair and felt hollow, the scene suddenly painted vividly in his mind.

8:50 am the first bombs went off. London was her heart and the trauma of this attack would have damaged it severely. She would probably have been making a cup of tea wondering what trouble her brothers were going to give her that day and then she would have been on the floor, coughing blood, feeling her people die and scream. She would be alone and frightened waiting for someone to come help, but no-one came until after the next bombs went off.

Why wasn't anyone there? Anger, fierce and terrible welled up inside of him and he wanted to scream at someone, he wanted to shake her and tell her to wake up. Like magnets his eyes were drawn back to the still form on the bed, waiting for her to sit up and scream at them for crowding the room when other people needed it.

He knew she'd get up, nations survived nearly anything but that stillness, that terrible lack of movement struck him like a knife. This wasn't the same vibrant woman he had fought for, lived with and loved. That wasn't England!

Yet it was, and right now she was somewhere where they couldn't help her, and it was a tough pill to swallow. She's been such a presence in his life that to see her like this was maddening and wrong. His eyes fixed on her face, even though she was unconscious he could detect lines of pain there.

He made himself comfortable on the chair, switching off his phone as well. He wouldn't miss her waking up for anything. He needed to see that life in her and that spark that was uniquely England; fierce but beautiful. He would wait for it to return.

**17 – Acceptance**

It is a harsh realisation when she realised that yes, there were in fact some men out in the world whom she was attracted to. She denied it, tried to fight it and raged against it but she eventually reaches the final stage of accepting it. Of course she'd rather carve out her own eyes than admit it to anyone, she has a reputation to uphold.

It would surprise some people to know that the first male she had a "crush" on wasn't France but Denmark. What could she say? She was young and foolish. The blonde had been annoying and stubborn but he'd also been a descent warrior and was much more involved with her than Rome had been. It didn't help that he'd grown up tall and hot and she blamed him for her attraction to tall guys. When she had been under his rule he'd followed her around all the time and dragged her with him wherever he went. She'd been confused at the attention at first and had lashed out violently but he kept on after her and she grew to appreciate the attention which neither Rome nor her brothers had given her.

Another crush was Turkey, he was so different to her and the mask gave him an air of mystery. She was amazed by the fact that after nations like Rome, Germania and her mother had disappeared he had lingered on. He wore his power confidently and she was drawn to it. His strength fascinated her and she allowed herself to imagine and to dream. He could be charming when he wanted to and he had a quick mind too.

Her interest in power had of course, attracted her to Spain, her rival. She admired the Conquistador and his abilities. They were two opposites pulling the other in with an electric force. So when they fought with blades and occasionally guns, a hand would brush a hip, fingers would ghost over a neck and eyes would become conflicted between hate and lust. Balanced on the tip of a knife.

There were others, they drifted in and out of favour as the centuries rolled by but she kept it hidden, repressed under her icy demeanour and fiery temper. Her eyes drifted to where Russia was sat next to the Baltic brothers, the familiar spark danced across her skin and she turned her attention back to the current speaker. She may accept it but she wasn't about to advertise it.

**18 – Sympathy**

She honestly did not know how Ukraine did it, the eastern European nation must have an infinite supply of patience to deal with her situation because England had never once heard her complain about it. Out of the corner of her eye she watches the group of countries that used to be the soviet union and she feels for Ukraine, she really does.

It couldn't be easy having to deal with Russia, even when he was acting relatively normal there was always something...off about him. On his own he was enough of a problem but Ukraine also had to deal with Belarus too. She didn't envy the female country at all, the three Baltic states were far too frightened to help and Ukraine was the only one who knew them well enough to actually try and control them. Well, not control more like look after and mother.

England had an inkling of what she might feel, her family wasn't exactly calm and collected either but the ex-soviet states made the UK look like "the Brady Bunch". None of her family had gone insane, at least she didn't think they had, and not one of her brothers were too afraid of her to speak to her. They certainly weren't afraid of telling her when she was acting like a bitch and she didn't mind telling them when they were being utter bastards.

Anyway, from what she could see Belarus was trying to edge closer to her big brother with the usual fanatic gleam in her eye. Russia had an uncharacteristically terrified look on his face and had forced Latvia to stand between them. Latvia looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whilst his brothers stood to the side with mixed expressions of worry and relief that it wasn't them. The whole thing was a recipe for disaster.

Ukraine had clearly sensed this and was hovering around nervously trying to distract her sister and get her away from her brother. England really did feel sorry for her but she also knew that Ukraine did not feel sorry for herself at all because to her they weren't a burden, they were her family and she wouldn't be happy without them.

Her eyes slipped to America and Canada, whom were having a conversation about super robots again (well America was, Canada was listening politely), before glancing back towards Ukraine.

For a second their eyes met and England nodded her head in respect towards her fellow nation, Ukraine nodded back; a nod from one big sister to another.

**19 – Holding**

How the hell had he gotten into this mess? Or, more importantly, how was he going to get out of this mess with his manhood still intact? Denmark could only pray that Odin was watching over him this morning.

The reason for the Dane's panic was clear: last night he had gone out drinking with Prussia and a few other nations, it had been fine until about 3am when his memory had started to go a little fuzzy. The morning had come and he had something more then just a hangover; clinging on to him with surprising force was a sleeping blonde woman. A blonde woman he knew very well, who had a notoriously short temper and limited patience.

What in Thor's name was England doing in his bed? The slim woman had somehow entwined her legs with his and her arms were draped across his chest, she was wearing one of his shirts and from what he could see, that was all. He was dressed in a loose pair of cloth trousers, so they hadn't had sex then; which was oddly disappointing. He must have been really drunk last night and she must have been as well; which was odd because he couldn't remember seeing her there at all.

One thing was very clear, he had to get away before she woke up. First thing to do, get his legs away untangled from hers. Moving achingly slowly he manoeuvred himself away from the sleeping beauty, trying to control his suddenly awakening hormones. He was only a man after all, and her skin felt so good and soft. His eyes trailed down her body; admiring the pale whiteness of her legs.

He absently noticed how much she'd grown since he'd first met her. She was the first girl country that he'd met and he'd been fascinated by the passionate little island. She hadn't been afraid of him, not even when they'd met on the battlefield and he admired her for it.

He gently lifted her hands off of his chest, marvelling at how small and slight they were; how could such delicate hands wield a blade with such skill. He'd seen her cut down men twice her size, covered in blood with a wide grin on her face she had looked like a human Freya: deadly, majestic, enthralling.

His thumb started to stoke her left wrist and his gaze became heated, unaware of this the slumbering woman mumbled and curled up against his side. The shirt she was wearing rode up revealing more of those milky white thighs.

The voice screaming at him to get away was fading as something else thrummed in his veins, something hot and heavy that only grew with every second he watched her. He knew that he'd be taking advantage of her like this but he was a Viking and when he wanted something he got it.

What would she be like? Would she fight him every step? Would she be submissive? What did she taste like? The answers to these questions were very important. Banishing any further arguments against it, he pinned her hands above the bed and leant down to her face.

Lazily, her eyes flickered open and she was met with the sight of a semi-naked berserker staring down at her with clear intent in his eyes. She quickly realised her trapped position and her eyes widened before something akin to a smirk flitted across her face.

**20 – Defeated**

Drip. Drop.

He'd done it.

Drip. Drop.

He'd actually done it. He'd left her.

Drip. Drop.

She couldn't understand what she'd done wrong. Had she been too harsh? Was she not good enough? Sure he'd been getting restless lately but she'd never expected this. She'd not expected to lose either.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Was it raining? Her skin felt cold but it was nothing compared to the growing numbness inside of her. She'd lost battles before but _this, _this felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and stamped on. Green eyes stared vacantly at the ground.

Drip. Drop.

Wait, were those tears too? No, it must be the rain, she didn't cry, she hadn't cried in centuries. Even if they tasted saltier than other rain drops, they weren't tears. Someone, was walking towards her, the squelch of boots in the mud pierced through the sound of the rain but she didn't look up. She felt horribly drained and empty.

"E-England?" God what was he doing here. Hadn't he gotten what he wanted? His precious independence. Pain pierced through the numbness and she felt her heart bleed. He'd won, she had lost, what more could he possibly want from her?

Drip. Drop.

There was a sudden harsh noise of marching and the cocking of a gun. Someone was behind her and aiming a gun at her bro- at America.

"Leave her alone Alfred." If she could feel anything it would be surprise. She thought she'd told Canada to stay back at the base. There was something cold and angry in his voice that she'd never heard before. Am- _He _took a step back clearly shocked.

"M-Matthew, what are you-"

"Leave her alone. Your men are looking for you." Again the cold harshness in Canada's voice unnerved her but she couldn't seem to lift up her head at all. There was a slow squelching of mud and the figure in front of her moved away. A hand was placed on her shoulder, she could practically feel the boy's worry. The numbness vanished again and she looked up into the rain and screamed.

**AN: OK the second instalment is up. A note on the names, in this collection they only use human names when emotions are really running high, and not all the nations know each others human names either. I chose Alvera for England because I wanted something different than the usual Ann, Abigail, Amelia etc for femEngland. Remember that you guys can request pairings or situations as well. I hoped you enjoyed this.**

**Alvera - "Elf warrior" = England **

**Auryn - "Golden one" = Wales**

**Riordan - "Royal poet" = Ireland**


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